Page 46 of You'll Find Out
“What do you mean?” Dena asked, but she guessed Mara’s unspoken thoughts.
“I mean . . . I think that you should talk your feelings over with a psychiatrist.”
“Wouldn’t you just love that, though?” Dena sneered, as if the idea was totally absurd. She shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe how transparent you can be sometimes.Idon’t need psychiatric help, and Mother doesn’t need a doctor, so you can just quit dreaming up excuses to have us both committed, because it won’t work!”
“I never—” Mara gasped.
“Oh, sure you did, Mara. You’re just like me, only you won’t admit it. You and I have been locking horns over the control of Imagination for years, and now I have the upper hand because, unless you give up all of your interest in Imagination and step down as president, I’m going to let this sordid little story of Angie’s dubious paternity leak out to the papers. I think the social editor and maybe the financial editor would find it incredibly amusing.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me!” Dena cocked her head and looked at the ceiling as if lost in thought. “How does this headline grab you,” she mused, “ ‘Local socialite uses child for control of toy company, or better yet, Imagination toys in shambles: Paternity of child heir in question.’”
“I know that you might find this hard to believe,” Mara replied, her chin inching upward defiantly, “but I’m not really concerned what the newspapers might make of the story.”
“But, think of your social standing in Asheville.”
“I told you, I really don’t care about anything like that,” Mara repeated. She had heard enough of Dena’s threats and accusations. She clutched her purse tightly in the well of her arm and moved closer to Dena and the doorway. “I’m leaving, now, Dena,” Mara stated calmly. “If you want to stay here any longer, it’s fine with me, but I’m not going to stay and argue uselessly with you. We’re getting nowhere, and I’m tired of wasting my time. You’ve heard my side of the story, and you can do with it what you want. Obviously, I can’t stop you. But I really do think that you should take your mother’s feelings into consideration. I . . . I wasn’t joking when I told you that I think she’s seriously ill, and I’m worried about her.”
“Why do you care so much about Mother?” Dena asked with renewed suspicion.
Mara sighed. “Because June has been very good to me and she loves Angie very much.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dena inquired with a smirk of disbelief cast on her face. “Then the least you could have done, once Peter was gone, was be honest with her and let her know that the child she has prized as her only grandchild was fathered by another man! Instead you hid behind a lie, Mara!”
“That may be,” Mara granted wistfully. She sighed to herself and somehow managed a feeble smile. “But I never expected to see Shane again.”
“So what? The kid was his, whether he was alive or dead!”
“Look, Dena, I’m not denying any of that. What I’m asking from you is that you please don’t say or do anything that might upset your mother. I’m going to try and persuade her to see Dr. Bernard, and once I know that she’s not seriously ill, then I promise, I’ll tell her all of the truth.”
Mara didn’t wait for Dena’s response. She started walking down the long corridor to the elevator shaft and snapped off the lights to the offices of Imagination. As the darkness closed in on her she heard Dena’s well-modulated Southern drawl echoing in the hallway behind her. “You’re copping out, dear sister-in-law,” it accused, and then, just as the elevator door opened and Mara stepped into its gaping interior, she heard Dena’s high-pitched, pleased laughter. An involuntary shudder skittered down Mara’s spine at the sound. Just how desperate, how obsessed, how neurotic was the scheming redhead?
The parking lot under the building was peacefully quiet and was succumbing to darkness in the ever-lengthening shadows of the early evening. Blissfully cool air greeted Mara as she made a hasty exit from the elevator and headed toward her reserved parking space near the entrance to the building. She slid her tired body into the soft vinyl seat of the Renault and let out a nearly inaudible sigh. For a moment, allowing herself a few seconds of precious time to calm down, she rested her head on the steering wheel, and let her tawny hair fall forward around her face.
How did it all get so crazy, she wondered silently to herself as she attempted to shake off the feelings of apprehension and anger that still hung cloyingly around her. She found no answer to the enigma that had become her life.
“Damn,” she muttered to herself, as she switched on the ignition of the car and started worrying about what action Dena might take after hearing Mara’s confession. “Damn, damn, damn.” How could everything in her life have gotten so suddenly complicated? All because of one little lie.
* * *
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” June had replied to Mara’s request that she check in with Dr. Bernard. “You have enough problems of your own without bothering yourself about my health. I’m fine.Really.You worry too much.”
It had taken a considerable amount of gentle persuasion, and Mara wasn’t entirely convinced that the older woman would do as she promised, but June had finally, though reluctantly, agreed to have a checkup. When pressed for a date, June was uncharacteristically vague, but Mara left well enough alone. At least June had promised to visit the local medical clinic. Even that small victory was more than Mara could have hoped for.
It was late by the time Angie had taken her bath. But the sight of the young child with her fresh scrubbed face, laughing dark eyes, and halo of wet, golden ringlets made Mara forget, at least momentarily, about the pressures of her job and problems with Dena. There was something about Angie, dressed head to toe in animal-print pajamas, that made everything else in the world seem insignificant. Mara had taken time to put a rather complicated puzzle together for Angie, and the child laughed delightedly when she recognized that the picture was taking the shape of two adorable kittens.
The doorbell rang, and Angie scrambled off of her chair, nearly slipping on the tile in the kitchen and calling importantly over her shoulder, “I get it, Mommy.”
Mara hurried from the kitchen just as Angie was tugging at the brass handle of one of the twin front doors. With a grunt, she was able to open it and there, on the darkened porch, was Shane, and Mara felt her heart leap at the sight of him. He looked tired, worn out. His black hair was disheveled, and the light touch of silver near his temples stood out in the darkness of the night. At the sight of his daughter the fatigue seemed to leave his face, and he bent down on one knee to scoop up the youngster and hold her against his chest as if he would never let go.
Angie clung to Shane, just as desperately as he held her, and Shane’s face, buried against the tiny neck of his child, was a tortured display of emotions. His love was so open and honest that Mara discovered she had to turn away from the poignant scene to avoid bursting into tears of frustration and self-reproach. How could she deny Shane the small but inherent right of a father to claim his child?
Shane set Angie back on the floor reluctantly, and answered every one of the child’s endless questions.
“We doing a puzzle of kitties,” Angie jabbered excitedly. “Do you want to see them?”
“Of course,” Shane replied seriously. “Maybe I can help.”